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If You Live in a Rural Area and Use Tinder, Please Read This
This happened to me a couple of months ago. I have wanted to talk about it since then, but I never found the right words. I also find it harder to talk to people in general now. After doing some research, I think that it may be due to her. Not that I could tell my friends or my family anyways. I have a history of mental illness, totally unrelated this story, but I know that they would think of my experience as some sort of relapse. Which is why I’m gonna tell you guys instead. *SETTING\* I was home alone in my studio apartment, eating dinner in front of the TV. My mom always said that only uncivilized people eat in front of their TVs. It was banned in our house, which is why I have been enjoying it so much more in the two years since I moved out, following a longer than average post-college interlude with ma and pa. If my mom would have seen me then, I think the nature documentary in the background (something about insects, I remember the praying mantis) would be the least of her concern. While my left hand had a firm grip on a slice of leftover pizza, my right was occupied with swiping. I think that anyone who’s been single in the Tinder era can relate to that numb swiping, when it becomes second nature to you and your thumb is just rowing across a deep lake of faces and names, pushing your boat o’ horny until you reach shore: Out of likes. I don’t get a lot of matches, and I live in a somewhat rural area. My town is surrounded by deep forest that goes on miles and the “range” in the app settings only goes so far. Everyone who appears on my screen has been there before. I guess that means that they recognize me as well. (Was I really hoping that they would have grown slightly more desperate since they saw me last? That’s kinda depressing) A crunching sound shifted my focus to the TV for a second. The mantis male had successfully mated with the female, and his reward entailed getting his head bitten off, in the very literal sense. *HER\* When I looked back at my phone, the dimmed screen was telling me that I had gotten a Tinder match. I must have swiped right on her without thinking. Not only was it a match, the girl was an absolute stunner. Long blonde, almost white, hair. Pale but flawless complexion and piercing ice blue eyes. Way out of my league. The app told me that her name was Lilit and that she was 25 years old. I didn’t recognize her, so I assumed that she was new in town, which, in an absurd way, proved to be true. She had two pictures. The first picture was a close up of her face. It was impossible not to look into those eyes; it was as she was staring at you through the screen. The second picture was a full-body shot, with her still facing the camera straight on. She was wearing a strange beige dress that looked kind of homemade: the fabric seemed to be something similar to burlap, but the cut was a perfect fit for her slim physique. Both pictures seemed to have been taken in the woods just outside of town, close to where my grandmother lived her whole life until she passed a year ago. We were quite close, and I obviously missed her even before that night, but after… Now I think about her every hour of every day. I am convinced that she would believe me. After all, she is the one who told me about her. My match didn’t have any text or songs or anything else in her bio. I flicked back and forth between her two pictures, planning on playing it cool for at least a minute or two before messaging her. Seconds later, Lilit messaged me. “Hello”, the message read. I replied with a “Hey! What’s up?” “You are very attractive. Would you like to meet?” For a minute, I was certain that she was one of those spam bots. No woman had ever been so forward with me. I lowered my expectations and replied: “I’d love to meet for coffee!” “Good. I too like coffee. Would you like to meet at my house?” Her message seemed too smart to be coming from the bots that I had encountered. There were no promises of nude cams or pictures, no Russian URL with spaces added in. My expectations rose and were now sky-high. “Sure! When?” “Now is good? I live in second house on Lardal Street.” I felt a chill in the back of my neck. That was my grandmother’s street. She lived in the first house, coming from the main road. I remember there being just one other house on that street, but that one was falling apart. I remember it missing a large chunk of roof and when the sun was setting behind it, all the slits and crannies lit up like gold in a grey rock. I once asked grandma about the derelict cabin, if she had neighbors there. “No neighbors. Skogen lives there.” My grandmother, or mormor as she made me call her, sometimes substituted English words with her native Swedish as a way to teach me her language. I am in no way fluent, but I know that word, skogen: the forest. The forest lives there. I thought it was a poetic way of describing a house worn down by the forces of nature. They must have torn that old house down, I thought. Built a new one. Stupid, I know. “Sounds great! I’ll be there in half an hour”, read my cheery reply. The place was only a ten-minute ride, but I had to find something other than sweatpants to wear. And in case I couldn’t find any condoms, I wanted to have time to swing by CVS. *THE MEET\* Minutes later I was in my car, wearing a faded black tee, driving on a road I knew almost too well. I was filled with excitement and my jeans were filled with condoms. It had been a while (however long you’re thinking, double it), and tonight was the night. As I turned off the main road and on to Lardal street, my excitement turned sour. My mormor’s small brick house had been replaced by a bourgeois McMansion. I had been angry at my mom for selling, and now I was angry at myself for not taking her up on the offer of living there myself. I never thought that the house would get torn down just so that some asshole could have a whole street to himself. Well, not quite to himself, Lilit lives here too, I thought. The road got a lot worse once I passed the big house and the suspension in my clunker of a Subaru was screaming trying to keep up. My one functioning headlight illuminated only the right side of the road, and barely that. My only point of reference was the McMansion’s façade lighting, which was fading fast in my back-view mirror. My heart jumped as the car suddenly dropped. There was a muffled crash and the sound of spinning tires. If I had had an air-bag, I am sure that it would have gone off. I was fine, but shocked. And stuck. The car was leaning left, pressing the driver’s side door against the ditch I had ended up in. I unbuckled my seatbelt and crawled across the passenger seat to the door. Once I got out, I reached in and got my keys. I got back on the road and used the flashlight on my cell to admire the depth of the pothole that I had just hit. When I shut it off again, I could make out the façade lights a long way off. Other than those small white specks, I was surrounded by complete darkness. “Need help?” The voice came out of nowhere. I turned around and fumbled to turn on the flashlight. In the cone of light stood a beautiful woman wearing a beige dress that must have been way too cold.“Lilit?” “Yes, I am Lilit.” She giggled. I laughed, relieved that I didn’t have to walk all the way to the bougie house. “I’m John. Where did you come from, Lilit?” “My house.” She pointed into the darkness. “You go.” She kept her pointing her finger until I hesitantly started walking. Lilit was walking behind me, keeping a steady distance of at least fifteen feet, but her presence was overwhelming. Why doesn’t she lead the way? I remember thinking. My hesitation only grew when I saw the house after just a minute’s walk. It was the same old cabin. It hadn’t changed. No one had fixed the hole in the roof. There wasn’t even a door. The only sign of residency was a single candle in a lantern just outside the door hole. “Welcome”, she said and pointed again, this time at the dark nothing that was the entrance. I was not in the mood to go into that creepy house. “Do you know anyone in town who does towing?” I took out my phone and checked Google Maps. “Call tomorrow.” “I really think I should call now if they’re open.” “They are not.” “They’re not?” “Welcome!” she insisted and pointed to the entrance again. Then, in the most matter-of-fact tone, she said: “I want to have sex.” I hate to admit it, but that was the magic word. Sometimes I wonder how many of history’s bad decisions could have been avoided if our judgments weren’t so clouded by sex, or lack thereof. Alas, I followed her inside. It was pitch black. She brought in the lantern from outside and placed it on the dirt floor, but even then it took my eyes almost a minute to adapt. Once they had, there wasn’t much to see. In one corner: a big pile of hay, in the other: three dresses, identical to the one that she was wearing, draped over a standing rake. The dresses appeared to have completely open backs with just strings to tie across, like a chef’s apron. I realized then that I hadn’t seen her back. Perhaps that was the reason for her walking behind me. The apron dress would not doubt expose more than just her back. There was no bed, no furniture at all. It was clear now that she didn’t live here, and I had been naïve who had believed her. This is obviously where she takes her Tinder dates, I thought. Probably still lives at home and doesn’t want any fuccbois sharing marmalade with mom at breakfast. Without warning, she pushed me down onto the hay, which was surprisingly soft and comfortable. She kissed me passionately. First my lips, then my neck. She smelled of meadow and spring, and I wanted nothing else than to be there with her. The creepy cabin around us disappeared and I saw only her, only those enchanting eyes. A glow seemed to emanate from her, a sort of pulsating halo that was pure beauty. She placed her hands on my t-shirt and ripped it in two in one smooth motion. She licked my chest and made sniffing noises like an animal. The noises took me somewhat out of the moment. Just then, she reached back and undid the ties on her dress. The cloth fell forward, revealing the most amazing body I had ever seen, both in real life and online. I can’t describe it, the proportions of her body seemed to shift and change based on where I was looking and what I was thinking. All I can say is that she was perfect, naked, and on top of me. She placed her hands on my crotch. Then, quickly, she undid my pants and removed my boxers. She grabbed me and guided me inside of her. The glow around her was almost blinding at this point. My hands traveled along her body in pure ecstasy. In that moment, I was the happiest that I have ever been. My hands stroked her arms, her thighs. My hands caressed her soft and gentle face. My hand stroked her back. Her back. There was no back. Where my hands were expecting another patch of flawless skin, they found only empty space. I thought that I was experiencing some sort of spatial dissonance, and I moved my hands closer. There was only more empty space. Her backside simply wasn’t there. Then, I felt it. My hand stopped in a place that should have been deep inside her torso. There it was: her back. Only, it wasn’t made of warm skin and flesh. It was wood. Feeling around, I felt like I was stroking the inside of a hollowed out tree stem, or perhaps a primitive canoe. “What’s wrong?”, she asked in a gentle voice, seemingly not bothered by my shocked face.“Your back”, I said. “What’s wrong with it?”“Nothing is wrong with it”, she said calmly before letting out a primal cry of lust that made my ears hurt. I then tried pushing her off me, but it was as she was locked in. We were, I don’t know how to say it… fused together? Not in any poetic or romantic sense, but quite literally. I slapped her arms and legs, begging her to get off me. I had never hit a person in my life before… I guess I still haven’t hit a person. When she responded to my struggle with only girly laughter, I hit harder: her arms, her face even. She never flinched or even blinked. Instead she took my hands in hers in the most gentle way. But the grip was strong, so strong. She now had me completely pinned down, seemingly without any effort. Instead, she was riding me and moaning. I flailed around like a madman, just hoping to cause some damage in the chaos. Then she grabbed my head with both of her hands and said: “You do not like me?” I just screamed: “Get the fuck off me!” My anger made her giggle again. “We are lovers now. You will go with me. Home.” “I thought this was your home, you crazy bitch!” “No. This is how far I venture. My home is the forest. And it will be your home, too.” This was the first time that the word popped into my head: skogsrå. It was a creature from Swedish folklore that my mormor used to tell me about. I always thought that it was some sort of analogy for the dangers of premarital sex. The skogsrå, the forest nymph, lured young men into having sex with them. Once the men had sex with a forest nymph, they were never seen or heard of again. The creatures were beautiful from the front but had backs like hollow, rotten trees. I instantly became even more frightened. I kicked my legs in the air. The hay dust went everywhere and turned my screams into a cough. Still, I kept kicking. I kicked and kicked until the tip of my toes touched something. A thin pole. The rake. I tried to hit it again and failed. I tried again, with all my strength and managed to hit it, just barely. I’m glad to say that it was enough to save me. The rake fell, and the dresses fell with it. The head of the rake fell right on top of the lantern and shattered the glass. I do not know if she didn’t hear it, or if she was in a trance or something, but Lilit just kept moaning and riding. I couldn’t quite make out what was happening behind her, but the shadows on the wall were flowing and flickering. Soon I could hear cracking and popping in the lulls of her moans. Suddenly, her moan became a scream. Lilit twisted and turned like something had bit her. Her body released its grip on mine and she rushed to her feet. She turned around for a moment, just long enough for me to get a get good look of her back. Her entire backside consisted of a dark brown hole, save for the small part that had now caught on fire. There, in the amber flames, the texture of wood was clear to see. It smelt like wood, too. That sour smell of wet wood taken in to dry. Her back was fizzing and crackling and thick smoke began to fill the cabin. She screamed and slapped her back. A larger portion of her arm disappeared inside the back cavity, where she was digging around, trying to smother the flame. Her flesh and skin seemed to take no damage, but her wooden core was making her writhe with pain. I was stunned, caught up in morbid fascination. She threw herself onto the ground and started rolling around. Her back must have come into contact with the hay, because soon flames were rising up all around me. The heat jolted me out of my role as spectator. I knew I had to get out of there, fast. I managed to get to my feet, but the sight of me trying to escape turned Lilit into something else. Her once excited moans were now screams of pain and anger, with her voice deepening and cracking seemingly at random. Over the course of ten seconds she had the voice of a young woman, an old man, and something… not human. I ran out of the cabin and didn’t look back until I reached my car. The house that had been completely hidden in the rural darkness was now engulfed in a dancing flames, much like an enormous dying candle. I thought of staying there and calling my brother, hoping that he might wake from the signal and come pick me up, but then I heard her. The sound was louder than any sound a human could make. It was a painful shriek mixed with the sound of flaming wood. You might say that it was just the cabin burning down, but I knew that both sounds came from the same mouth. I ran all the way to the big house. The father of the family wasn’t an asshole, as I had presumed. After calling the fire department, he gave me a ride home. He didn’t ask any questions. Perhaps he didn’t care why the old house had caught on fire; I can imagine that he wanted it gone. Or perhaps he knew what had lived there. *THE AFTERMATH\* I called the towing company first thing the following morning. I didn’t dare to go with. Instead, I watched from my kitchen window as the tow truck dumped my old Subaru in the driveway. I saw the guy unhook my car and reach for his phone. My cell rang on the table and nearly gave me a heart attack. “Hey, so your car is here.” His tone was short. “Thank you so much. Is… is anything wrong?” I don’t know why I asked. “Yeah, man. You could’ve warned me ‘bout the broken glass in the passenger seat.” “Oh. Sorry about that.” I apologized without knowing what glass he could be referring to. Perhaps the windshield broke, I thought. “Don’t worry about it. Just think next time. Anyways, I threw it away.” “You threw what away?” “The lantern, man. The lantern from the passenger seat.” Category:Fanfic Category:Creepypasta